Be It Ever So Humble
by Orochimartyr
Summary: The reign of the Giant Snake has been over for years now but that didn't stop the denizens of the rice country from perpetuating horror stories. The base & scene of Orochimaru's murder still loomed in our lives and I had been professionally ignoring it... but now I had no choice but to enter it.
1. Exposition

Be It Ever So Humble

I suppose it has to have been a few years now. The sprawling underground base has become a local stigma. Not to say it wasn't a local stigma when it was operational. The population accepted that living within a certain radius of any of Otokagure's bases runs certain risks. The horror stories were countless: darkest and more terrifying at their rural points of origination before spreading across the known world as rumors. I scarcely thought it could get any worse than tales of kidnapping, human experimentation, necromancy and genocide.

But news of the murder of Orochimaru spread like wildfire. A violent wildfire. The Tyrant Great White Snake was dead. Surely the rest of the world celebrated this immediately but those of us in Rice country- we froze for a few days. Living in the shadow of such a man, we found it hard to believe he could simply be gone.

He'd come to be feared as some sort of dark god. The kind of dark god parents scared their children obedient with and the kind that preceded dead heroes in grim fairy tales. The kind that travelers of superstitious build carried totems to ward off as if he were a vampire or goddamn demon. Or the Devil himself.

The news settled like a blanket over the villages nearest the base said to have been the scene of the crime. In actuality Oto was known to have dozens of bases all over the world and many more no one even knew about. I thought surely the people over-romanticized the fall. There was an excited hush upon younger denizens. Talk of freedom and all that nonsense. The elders knew not much would change; the country was still devastatingly poor.

Daring chatter of looting the base cropped up in drinking holes and eateries soon after. That seemed like a terrible idea, the worst possible in fact. But much of this country regularly bathed in desperation. Coupled with the lack of stimulating activity around here the local brigands took the idea to heart. I haven't seen a number of them since.

At the time I smugly thought they begot what they deserved for doing something so pointlessly radical, a stupid venture in the den of snakes, dead or otherwise. Now I stand at the once gaping entrance into the base. The dark archway was choked in vines as well as debris. My eyes toyed with the idea of vague shapes of fallen men beneath but I am sure it was just the adrenaline seeping into my brain. I had never even come near this place in all my days. I had thought the country folk silly to be stuck in their superstitious past but I religiously shied away from the faded little snake painted on the arch's pillar.

In recent days my father mustered up the gumption to push his trolley down into this little slice of darkness. He was sure he could find useful glassware or scraps of metal to sell, the enthusiastic collector he was. I insisted it must have all been plundered by now but my frail old man with his large half-rusted trolley tottered off into the dark, whistling no doubt. He assured my mother the snake was dead and its most faithful disciple had fled long ago. But he has been gone a few days and I have been urged to come and find him.

I had hunted down one of the bandits first to loot this place. I had known him from childhood as a prideful rough-and-tumble thief. I asked him for a safe way in. The price for this information was a long-winded boast. I was regaled with a harrowing tale of his survival, undoubtedly exaggerated and refined over years of retelling. All I took away from it was being profoundly glad Lord Orochimaru's loyal subordinate had left this place. The boy was said to have gone quite made at the loss of his master. More mad than the usual Otokagure madness.

As I skirted around the main entrance I looked about for the vent my bandit friend instructed me about. It was little more than a glorified hole in the foliage. Although it was exceedingly unremarkable I was struck by a feeling of dread staring into the impenetrable black beyond. I had never experienced such foreboding fear in all my simple life. I stood paralyzed a moment. This was going to be the most daring thing I've ever done. Working the rice patties and taking care of my parents was no means for excitement or adventure. I was always much more reserved than my spontaneous father. I thought about my white-haired old man shuffling about into God-knows-what with a lackadaisical grin. Here I was scared stiff just standing outside of it.

Eventually I gathered just enough waning courage to carefully lower myself into the gaping blackness. All that courage I gathered fluttered off in all directions in the seconds between letting go of the edge and my feet hitting the ground. I stumbled with a small outcry, having struck something on the way down. My cheeks flushed in embarrassment as I glanced up towards the only source of light to see it had been a gutter constructed to catch the rain.

It was far too dark to begin exploring, especially with the infamous use of booby traps in the snake's bases. Thinking back to stories I've heard of entire structures flooding thanks to a self-destructive trap, I became ten times more anxious about the lack of light. I stooped against course stone to gather my lantern, no more than a glorified candle holder my father no doubt gathered up decades ago. I found myself hoping the flint would relieve the oppressive and somewhat damp scent lingering in the air when I struck it. It did not.

As I lifted my new light source about what I felt was my safe radius I realized I was lucky there was no gas or chemical leak and I didn't just explode. I could have died four times already and I haven't taken a step. I appeared to be in a room that was once lived in, most likely by a foot soldier or a servant. It was quite small and contained only a stripped, moth-eaten bed and an overturned nightstand. As this was obviously ransacked long ago I tried to assure myself that if bandits had gotten in and out so could I.

I steeled myself to step out of this room into an inevitable hallway. This assurance shrank away as I looked both directions. Either way the hall continued into impenetrable darkness dotted only occasionally with soft light coming from one of the many doorways lining the carved walls. I stood for what seemed like ages. I felt like I was five. The ritualistic sprint performed down the hall late at night to my parent's room. I remember how it felt as if pressure mounted in the darkness just at my back and the utter terror. I imagined so strongly the horrors that could be lurking within I was always in tears by the time I reached my mother. Only in this situation the terrors could very well be real.

How did my father even get in here? His trolley was twice his size and twice his age. He must have gone through the front entrance. How was I even supposed to begin looking for him? What if something has happened to him? What if he has fallen down some crevice, or trapped his leg in some rubble, or fell victim to some awful exposed chemical? The village thought my old man fearless. I always thought of him as less fearless and more oblivious. And now unspeakably selfish to make me come in here after him all for scraps!

My anger trumped my fear and I chose a direction out of spite. I picked my way with purpose to the right, stepping over rubble and the occasional defunct piece of unidentifiable equipment. I glanced in each doorway as I came to it, hoping beyond hope that perhaps my father would be lingering in a room beyond. No such luck of course.

Most of the doorways were merely similar rooms to the one in which I started. Others still were sad and empty storerooms or eerily still washrooms. This must have been some semblance of servant's quarters. Most of the world at large only associated Lord Orochimaru's bases with the man himself and only a handful of others: his loyal spy, the last Uchiha boy from the Leaf, as well as whomsoever was pertinent to whatever experiment he had his fingers in that month. I suppose we never thought about the scale of the base. Such a place would need upkeep and service. I scowled slightly at the notion; the sheer number of people's daily lives it took to sustain this one man's flighty sinister whims.

Eventually the hallway turned sharply to the right. The wall now in front of me was adorned with an elaborate snake carving once accentuated with a candle holder at the head. I had a feeling I would get awfully tired of snakes by the time this was over. For the time being I felt the direction change of the hallway was making progress. This was, of course, stupid. As I further padded my way to the right the hall seemed to change. It got wider and the ceiling became vaulted.

The doorways, now anointed on either side with rusted candle holders, were few and far between. Beyond these were impressive rooms apparently of various purposes. Some rooms had worn desks, podiums, or merely places to sit. Bookcases or shelves lined the walls. These had nothing remaining in them. My father remained elusive.

I cautiously ventured into one of these larger rooms for a place to rest my feet only because it was lit from the surface by a similar vent. It appeared to be another room for reclining, also lined with barren shelves. I stayed on one side of the room as at the other end was a stagnant water feature and a pile of broken string instruments. As a carefully sat on the edge of a sandstone ottoman I thought about how much more eloquent this section of the base was as compared to where I started. The Giant Snake must have been wholly hedonistic if the base only looked regal and livable in the areas he apparently frequented.

I bent over to remove my sandals and massage my feet. I felt perhaps I was being a little melodramatic about it, as I've been on my feet all my working life. The light coming from the surface was indeed a few hours later. I was trying to come to terms with the fact that the sun would eventually go down and leave me in the dark. I followed the light beam back down to my toes as I put my sandals back on. I noticed a scrap of material wedged under the ottoman.

Plucking it free and bringing it to my face I could see it was torn from a fine silk cloth. I don't think I'd ever even handled anything made of such a fine material. It was the kind of silk you may walk by in the big city markets, displayed in a royal vendor stall, and sigh dreamily as if it were a distant dream to have any. I then glanced about the room once more. The seats and benches had once all had cushions draped in silk to sit and watch the fountain or listen to the lyrical strings. Despite the pang of hatred for all this decadence I did feel sad that a room so calm and warm had been ransacked to nothing and left to the cold.

I tucked the scrap into my pocket and sighed heavily. I built up my resolve once more to venture out into this horrible place. My father had to be around here somewhere. I cursed at my old man under my breath as a walked ever onward. I almost didn't notice the hall open up on one side to a large area. In all honesty I had no idea what it was once as any furniture was trampled to rubble and strewn about. I was afraid still to pass through the middle of an open space even though I had seen no other living thing since I ventured in here. It took several minutes for me to leave the safety of the hallway.

/Part 1. Hey nerds: The hideout Orochimaru is murdered in was actually in the East & not in Rice Country. But you know. For literature. -Orochimartyr


	2. The Kitchen & the Room

I tried to maintain my dignity and keep sure footing as I focused on an iron double door across the room. The feeling of being five and in the dark was back at the top of the roster. The air was cold, malicious and heavy, as if it were displeased at being stirred up after so many years. This thought tipped the scale out of pride's reach as I held my breath and practically skipped to the doorway.

I burst onto the other side of the double doors and clung to a counter top, the first solid thing I came into contact with. Calming down, feeling embarrassed again and catching my breath, I blinked in the light.

Was there light? I glanced around. I appeared to be in a large industrial kitchen lit by a lone bare bulb hanging pitifully from the darkness. It was quite the dystopian mess but I could make out a stove and a large empty hole in the counter. They stole the sink? They stole the sink. The rusted appliances hung open like the mouths of dead oxen trapped in the mire. The cupboards, if not torn down, were all bare. This kitchen must have fed the entire base, snakes and servants alike. It made sense that it be hit hardest. With the surrounding area impoverished, all the food in a freshly abandoned kitchen would have been a gold mine.

There was a low humming noise resonating in the air. I assumed that meant there was a generator around here somewhere. There were only generators in the shops back in town, as the neighborhoods couldn't afford anything as luxurious as electricity. They made a very specific noise with which my father was fascinated. I made my way through the kitchen. I could see another dilapidated set of double doors in the back.

Before creeping through the doors in search of what I hoped was a generator I noticed a space that looked different. It wasn't clean by any stretch of the imagination but everything else in the godforsaken kitchen was rusted beyond recognition. It was a pantry that was laden with padlocks but now stood ajar. I squinted inside at dusty shapes of cans and bags of rice remaining. There were footprints in the dirt and rubble.

I followed the path of the scuffled footprints out the door I was standing in front of. It took a minute to sink in. Someone must still be living in here. Of course, someone had to be running the generator. My mind erupted into panic mode. "_It must just be a squatter. Maybe he's seen your father. Maybe your father is with him admiring the generator!_" The logical half of my brain made a valiant effort in persuading my adrenaline down. But the terrified five-year-old persisted, stating only:

"_It's probably a renegade mutated experiment that has already killed your father and is eating him with a side of rice. No worries, though._"

I frowned down to my collar bone. As a boy my parents used to say I was lucky to be both smart and imaginative. In reality this resulted just in my logically determining everything as dangerous and terrifying. I liked to think I was the voice of reason to all the destitute and worn workers. They probably didn't think of me as highly. Now it was either helping or hindering and I had no way of knowing which way it was going.

I snatched a half rusted knife off a rack as I passed through the doors pretending to be brave. I had never had any idea in my life how loud my footsteps were or how loud my breathing was. Good lord, have I always been so loud? I tried to be as quiet as humanly possible. Up a couple of stairs I came back into a hallway.

It was much like the previous hallway but tighter. The walls were carved in a lulling curved pattern. I clung to these walls and tried to channel my inner mouse, peering into once-decent rooms for any sign of my old man. I could never tell how near or far the humming of the generator was. I glanced into a large open laboratory. Broken glass and upended benches made it impossible to enter. Like hell I would have anyway.

I was so distracted by my racing thoughts that I almost fell into a doorway against my safety wall. I steadied myself and my gaze fell to the ground to be sure of my footing. I saw that my sandals had scuffed through a dark, flaky iodized stain. I squinted at it a little longer despite what it had to be. I slowly turned on my heels. The stain splashed out of this doorway turned out to be an ocean covering the room I had nearly tumbled into.

Dumbfounded by the sheer amount of dark staining, I stepped into the middle of the room. It was like wading into a frozen lake that smelled of metal. There had been blood everywhere. It had puddled on most of the floor, sprayed across walls, slung across the ceiling. I found myself more horrified that no one had cleaned it up. That indicated to me that this must have been a scene of finality in the function of this base.

Any furniture was upended and empty like someone had searched them in a hurry or in a rage, or perhaps both. I backed away from the destroyed desk and dressers. A sharp hiss sounded from behind me. I squealed like a wounded doe as I spun, bringing the knife to my chest but tripping over my own feet. I landed on my ass, bringing the knife up in the direction of the noise. I was wedged between a wall, a broken nightstand and a bed splintered in half. I shuddered to think of how that bed, clearly once very grand, became so destroyed. I only lowered the knife glimpsing the source of the noise in the center of wood and mottled silk.

I squinted at this pile of something that I had only seen because it moved. Holding the lantern up in my other hand I saw it was a coiled snake. A large tan python curled around what I hoped at first was decaying mattress. I only realized it was a clutch of eggs when the animal turned its thick head my way, with a probing forked tongue and lidless cold eyes. My upper lip recoiled as far as I did as I scrambled backwards up against the nightstand.

If I never saw another snake in my life I would keep a watchful eye on my father for the rest of his days. I looked down to make sure I still had my would-be defense weapon and had a time tucking the knife in my belt without hurting myself. My elbow knocked the drawer of the forsaken nightstand out. It fell to the floor with a sound loud enough to startle me and the wretched reptile nesting near, as we both made similar startled noises.

I scooped up the contents before they could fall and make any more noise for whatever other miserable entity about to hear. I froze and waited to make sure nothing heard me being clumsy. Eventually I looked down at the only two things in my hands: a shinobi's headband and a crumbled piece of paper. These must have been left out of contempt, as I'd seen all of the other dressers and chests so empty that even entire drawers were taken.

Turning the headband over I recognized the insignia of the fire country ninjas behind the massive gash etched across it in the metal. It was old and worn to the point of antiquity. Konohagakure had the most premier force of shinobi in the world so their headbands were easily recognized. But what was this poor jilted thing doing in a place like this? A victim of the Giant Snake, perhaps, that demon spawned from-

I dropped the thing like it was on fire. The metal plate made a small chime as it hit the stone. I remember Lord Orochimaru always proclaimed as a legend gone bad by the older folks. He had originally been a Konoha shinobi. What if that headband had been _his_? I had held it. What if this room had been _his_, bathed in blood? What if the Giant Snake was murdered _in this room_?

The cold that I waded into when I entered this room suddenly became cloying as if the air was trying to keep my lungs from inflating. I clambered to my feet and pressed against the wall, stuffing the ball of paper from the drawer in my pocket without a thought. I tried not to look at the room again. I hurriedly grabbed the doorjamb. The wretched creature in the rotting bedding huffed and puffed at me being so much of a disturbance. "Shove off." I barked at it in a hushed whisper before I practically flung myself into the hallway far away from the doorway.

Looking back it seemed positively black as if it were a doorway into nothing. The shadows spilling out of it in the form of long dry blood spray acted as an open invitation. The space behind me felt like it now had a purpose, like it had intent to spread anger and pain. It succeeded. I turned back to the hallway and took a deep cleansing breath. I shuffled down the hall at a quicker pace than before.

/Hey nerds. OH SNAP normal people touching my shit. Stay tuned. One or two installments left~ -Orochimartyr


	3. The King of the Base

I focused on the hum of the generator. It sounded closer now but I couldn't be sure. I was never a very good judge of distance but I tried my damnedest nonetheless. If I thought about it hard enough I hoped I would forget being in that room and the indescribable horror that washed over me. It was no doubt in vain. I'd probably visit it every night before sleep for the rest of my life. For now the generator would do, being the only lead I had.

I'd even dismissed fear of who or what might be living in this hell hole as I felt nothing could top the blood-soaked room. I was so ready to gather my father and get out of here, never to even look in this direction as long as I lived.

I came to a halt when I arrived toe to toe with a mountain of rock and dirt. The hallway had collapsed here. I could just barely make out the night sky through rebar and roots above. I stood for a moment and enjoyed the little precious fresh air filtering in. It was a small gap and not fit for any human escape route. As I stood in silence I could still hear the generator coming from the same direction. I gathered up the strength to continue, spying a doorway to the right of the hall. I sighed and trekked on. I felt ten years older than when I had started this endeavor and felt I'd somehow began to become cynical of my own cowardice.

Through this door was a large storage room with a door on the other side. The shelves here were only partially robbed. The items remaining were jars and vials, some empty and some full. I had no interest in finding out what any of them contained and hurried to the opposite door. Beyond this was another hallway continuing onward. I felt this was a relief as much as I was going to get in here.

This hallway was crowded with debris. Broken furniture and over turned trunks lined the walls. Most of the rooms were blocked off. The generator was louder. I thought I'd be happy about it but instead the fear of something guarding it crept back. I tiptoed carefully through the splinters and decay. However, I didn't figure decay to be as slippery as I stumbled forward and threw all my weight onto a table obscuring an archway.

The table turned out to be a stainless steel gurney. The kind with wheels, I was informed when it slid out from under me and skimmed down the hall as if of its own volition. It toppled with a loud crash. I toppled with a loud crash and a tapering shout. There came another shout and it took a second to register that it was not me.

I turned about to see a human figure in the doorway. I pulled my knife from my belt, cutting myself in the process, and brandished it at the figure with a shout that came out less intimidating than I'd have liked. The figure nonetheless shouted as well but brandished something at me in return. I nearly recoiled, making peace with my life, before I realized it was only a wax candle. The both of us froze.

The candle threw harsh light onto a harsh face. It was a thin, bedraggled man perhaps just a little older than me. His skin was dusky and his hair was so brick red it was nearly brown. He spoke with a cracked voice through cracked lips.

"Good job slicing yourself with _my_ fine knife, mate."

"It….It's not as easy as they make it seem in the plays." I replied, hesitant to put the knife down. The man squinted at me, drawing shadows into the bags beneath his eyes.

"You ain't no ninja, son." He said as I cautiously rose to my feet. "Well no, I'm…just a rice farmer from the village. You don't look like a ninja." I retorted, motioning to him in his entirety.

The man drew his ragged pants up and hitched a breath in a proud posture. "I sure ain't. But I'm the king o' this base, now. Promoted through open positions, wouldn't you know?" He said with a crooked grin. I gave him an incredulous look.

"You worked here? For the… for the _snake_?" I found it hard to believe anyone in Lord Orochimaru's service would remain in the place of their imprisonment of their own free will. This man looked to be a native of Suna. Why wouldn't he go home?

"Why…Why on earth would you stay in this place?" I discreetly put a little distance between myself and this man. He didn't seem to be all there. Isolation in this dark horrible hell hole for nearly a decade is more than I could imagine. Even if I couldn't blame him, it didn't ease my worry.

"Oh working for the snake wasn't such a bad gig. Before that slimy codger we was all barely getting by, wherever we been from. Then he comes by, needs some knobs to do some work and presto, we got food, shelter, even a little community for the rest of our miserable lives." He nodded thoughtfully but caught the disbelieving look on my face. He continued, saying, "Sure may not've been that long a life. Th' Snake Lord did occasionally shove of an' kill the help but, you know, only on bad days. Why would ya kill your own help, right?"

"Bad days?" I murmured, not because I didn't think Orochimaru had them but because I assumed that's all there were. I was some morbid kind of fascinated by the rambling of this dirt-encrusted hermit. It was like catching a glimpse of the Devil kicking off his trotters at the end of the day.

"Oh aye, like I said, wasn't such a bad gig. I had this mate and one of the bloke's only jobs was bringing the lord his cuppa tea. He said Th' Snake was polite as all get out but didn't stop 'im from having nightmares. Lucky I was just a maintenance man. Didn't see his Royal Ghostliness in the flesh but for passin' in the hall."

The man paused and squinted at me bemusedly. I must have had a vacant enthralled look on my face. I cleared my throat, embarrassed.

"You came awfully far for some ghost stories, rice farmer." He said. "Not like them kids that come blunderin' down here lookin' for a scare now and then."

I tried to regain a serious composure. "No. I'm looking for my father. We're not looking for any trouble. He just wandered down here a few days ago salvaging, just an old man. Have…have you seen him?" I tried not sound hopeful, thinking perhaps crazy people smell hope like lions smell fear.

They might. The man grinned, a smile not in its best shape. "Ooooh. An old man with a great big trolley was it? Yeah I seen him"

"You have! I'd be very grateful if you would tell me where, if you know a way out even."

"Oh I know all that. But I can't just go telling you for no nominal fee, now can I? You're going to have to give me something for my troubles if'n you want to know. Otherwise you're welcome to be my new neighbor an' you can fetch _me_ tea." The man seemed much humored by himself. I was significantly less humored.

"Give you something? I… I only came down here with water and a little food. I don't think I even own anything valuable." I argued timidly.

"That won't do, son, I've got enough food 'n water to keep me fat as a cat the rest of my days. You're sure you've got nothing?" He hobbled a short way beyond the arch we were standing beneath, sharing the flame of his candle with more of the same. There was a workbench and a wall in the room beyond, covered in what were just knickknacks and trinkets as far as I could tell. The rest of the room was filthy to include a ramshackle bed that was drowning in dust. Every surface was smothered in odds and ends: jars, quills, scraps of books, items that I could not identify.

"Empty your pockets, than." He barked, startling me from intently squinting at something that may have been a femur. I stammered and mumbled awkwardly. I gave the man his kitchen knife back before turning my thin pockets out. The scrap of silk I pocketed earlier pooled into my palm along with a crumpled piece of stock paper I'd recovered from the bloodbath room. The man from Suna quickly snatched the silk from me with gnarled hands.

"Oho look at this, cerulean silk! Oh yeah, that's nice, quite nice." The man artfully propped the scrap of fabric across a heap of candle holders after rubbing it against his cheek. I definitely didn't want it back now. What would he even do with all of this stuff? He clearly hoarded it because he thought it was valuable but if he never comes out of this crumbling base again…what would be the point? Whatever floats his boat, I suppose.

I fidgeted with the scrap of paper, unfolding it while my would-be bargainer cackled delightedly over the silk. It was about the size of a photograph. A corner was torn and the edges were worn. There was a handwritten date on the top of an otherwise blank slate. The writing was spidery and trailing but far too worn for me to decipher. Figuring it to be the back of the photo, I flipped it over in my hand and just about dropped it.

The picture was faded with age but still clear. It was a picture of three adolescent children lounging under a tree. A hazel-eyed blonde girl was sitting in the grass looking very protective and militant but had her legs elegantly tucked beneath her. In the center was a very boisterous looking boy with a large frame and an explosion of white hair atop his skull, his arms outstretched towards the companions on either side of him. Despite my situation the pure sincerity of the smile on this child's face bade my lips turn upwards momentarily.

The lower right corner of the photo was torn and the remaining edge frayed as if this photograph was always only handled from this side. Small worn scratches did little to mask the identity of the third boy in the picture. Sitting slightly aloof and lounging in the grass was a thin boy with small pointed features in juxtaposition to the broad child in the middle. This third boy's skin was white as a ghost and, most fearfully, his long black hair framed intensely bright serpent eyes.

My lips were trying to work into words. I was trying to tell the collector to take the photo from me. I did not want to stare at it any longer. I did not want to humanize Orochimaru the Tyrant Snake and I did not want his delicate face and happy friends emblazoned in my mind's eye. The dark markings enveloping his eyelids and running to a point down the bridge of his nose only made it more impossible not to be drawn to stare into his eyes. Although the expression the boy wore was unremarkably neutral, maybe even gentle with the faintest hint of a smile through pale parted lips, the inhuman eyes almost physically burned mine.

Suddenly the photo was snatched from me with a loud startling theatric gasp from the second party. He clutched it in his grubby hands and held it an inch from his nose looking marvelously enchanted. It would have been comical under other circumstances.

"Oh my sweet mum's grave, where did you _find this_!?" I started to answer him but he flew off into an excited rant.

"This! This right here! This is Lord Orochimaru! Only smaller, but blimey he looks much the same. This is _his life_! The daft snake squeezed all the labor out of me for all my life and now! Oh now, my rice farmer friend, now I've got _his_! This is the most valuable thing I could ever get, mate."

I was a bit dumbstruck by his enthusiasm. If I had any doubt he'd lost his mind it was gone now.

"My…About my father-." I cleared my throat and spoke over the man berating a photograph nearly half a century old. I was very ready to leave this old magpie with his collection and never see him again. It took him several minutes to calm down.

"Oh right. Your old man is a brave coot, in't he? He gave me some shiny bits and wandered down towards the prisoner labs with a smile on his old face the whole time." He nodded enthusiastically.

"….Prisoner labs?" That sounded like the two most horrible things in this structure combined into _the_ most horrible thing plausible.

The man just nodded again. "Yup! The prisoner labs are where most of the crazy spooky stuff went down. When the snake died and his four-eyed little lap dog left there was a right intense riot between prisoners down there. Which seems kinda silly, don't it? Prisoners turnin' on each other if they're all freed?" He laughed at this. "There's an exit just beyond that, I swears. So the spooks could get in an' out without traversing the whole rest of the base I reckon."

I was so relieved to hear the word "exit" that it almost abolished the preceding story of prison riots.

"Thank you for your…er…help." I stumbled through thanks I scarcely thought he deserved. He didn't notice, as he'd turned back to his collection. I gathered my lantern and began padding down the direction of the prison labs, leaving the king of the base muttering about where to put his new prized possession.

/Stay tuned for the heartfelt conclusion~ -Orochimartyr


	4. Father

For the first time in this god-awful venture, despite the disturbing scene I just trotted away from, I felt relief at it coming to an end. It was liberating. As the hallway turned into a wide and winding staircase I watched my steps. Lord knows I had fallen like a clumsy toddler enough today. My new sense of relief gave me a boost of confidence.

I passed the noisy generator near the head of the staircase. The collector must have found it as deafening as I did and so kept it further from his hording hovel. I had only paused fleetingly to look at the rumbling machine. I found machinery to be fascinating and futuristic but wholly unnecessary. Humans had gotten along just fine without them so far. No doubt my father would have stopped to marvel at it, casting an enchanted eye over what was really just grease and iron. He would have seen it as metal animating itself to provide power. It was something he often marveled at with a near toothless grin on his face. I continued down the stone stairs.

The staircase listed downward in a subtle spiral. It was peculiarly relaxing. I allowed my mind to wander off to what I would do when I brought father home. Taking a nice long nap in plenty of light was first on that list. That was after a bath of course. Everything in this place, to include the air, coated me in some sort of grime physical or psychological. I would gently scold my mother for encouraging father to wander off into some place so dangerous. Perhaps I would even try to be a braver person. I decided that I would certainly be a braver person; otherwise I would come out on the other side of this with nothing to show for it.

I wandered out of my thoughts when the staircase ended in a landing. I was thankful for this, having been worried about going deeper underground being counterproductive. There were no more stairs, no more unending hallways. A sense of finality loomed over this landing that greeted me only with three jeering doorways.

To my left the doorway had half collapsed. Likewise half of the walls seemed to spill into the room beyond like an avalanche of masonry. The remaining portion of that room was surprisingly devoid of anything. Empty cupboards and workbenches weren't violently ransacked but the contents appeared to have been properly moved somewhere else. As this was obviously not the way to go I turned about.

I stepped to the doorway at my right for a moment just to peer inside. Something metal glinted at me from the dark depths of this large and cool room. My sandaled feet feel upon pristine tiles as I stepped past the threshold. This was most curious. My lantern did as little to illuminate the dark as did the small window at the other end of the room. I scanned the wall for a candle holder but instead found only a switch. I stared at it a moment before flicking it upward in a practice of bravery.

I was prepared for the worst but it had merely illuminated the room. Long fluorescent tubes of light from the ceiling hesitantly flickered to life and buzzed as if yawning. I squinted at this light. It was unnatural. It bathed the room in a glow that was somehow unsettling in its artificial origin. The tiles were white and immaculate. I glanced around to see the rest of the room was just as immaculate. It would have been encouraging if I didn't find myself standing in a morgue.

The glint that had enticed me to step closer was another stainless steel gurney. My breath shortened as I noticed there were straps on it. In this place there was only darkness, a profound loneliness. In this place the slaves had nowhere else to go and the prisoners fought _each other_. In this place the morgue tables needed leather straps.

I cast my eyes downward wondering why I was even surprised anymore. My pensive gaze was met with a drain in the middle of the spotless tiles. This was just as ominous. My fear-addled toddler side came back into being to offer up a nugget of wisdom.

_If you stare long enough_, it said, _you can probably hear the screaming all the way from hell_. I agreed with it this time and opted it time to leave.

I frowned at the wall opposite me. It was not a wall but a set of steel drawers, of course. I shouldn't frown at death, I supposed as I read some of the tags. At least the Snake had the decency to put bodies in the cooled drawers and not just throw them in a pit of bones. There was probably a pit of bones somewhere.

All the tags were written in the same spidery, trailing handwriting as on the back of the photo. Lord Orochimaru's handwriting. _Xaiylia Mei 28 F., Kayla Usagiri 19 F., Kaito Takanashi 25 M. Orochimaru ∞ M…. _

Quite the sense of humor, this one.

I tapped the switch again and returned the morgue to its darkness. Only one way left to go and it was forward. I took another cleansing breath and assured myself I was almost home free.

The doorway in front of me opened up into an incredibly large chamber. I couldn't help but gape. It was two stories and lined with prison cells on one side. On the other side, across a considerable empty space between, were shelves and cubbies. There were more gurneys as well as seating apparatuses that I could only describe as torture chairs. I averted my gaze from that side of the chamber.

I remembered what the collector had said about a prison riot upon spotting long dried blood on the worn flagstones. I looked up only to face a cell, its bars choked in creeping ivy, containing a heap of human skeletons. I frowned again, deepening lines already in my face. It must have been a very one sided riot. These poor men (my mind did not allow me to think of women also having to be imprisoned here). Surely they had hopes and ambitions? How long had some of them been there? Why even fight? Questions I would never know answers to but would now always ask.

A noise startled me from my grisly pondering. It sounded like shifting in a pile of scraps. I knew this kind of noise intimately, as it had always heralded the appearance or delighted laughter of my father sifting through his own collections. My heart leapt to my throat. I never thought I'd be happy to hear a disembodied noise in this dark testament to a madman.

I jogged gingerly down the prison block to a room off to the side. Beyond the entrance to this room was a wide door. This door was open. This door was letting in fresh air and moonlight. I smiled so wide I could have cried. I slowed and peered into the door of the preceding room.

Lo and behold, there was my small, withered father with that irrevocable grin on his face. He was standing near the middle of this close room. It appeared to be a very personal laboratory with a low ceiling. It was cluttered with instruments, desks and a large console of some sort. There were many buttons and monitors. It looked very complicated. I dismissed this and called out to my old man.

"Father!"

He stopped gleefully tapping a vacuum bulb attached to an apparatus in the ceiling and looked over at me calmly. Where I would have panicked he only smiled from ear to ear with his eyes a' twinkle as always. He reached for something in his trolley in front of him.

"Oh my boy, look at what I found mounted in here. I think you'd like them!"

My father held up a very large ivory something. It looked to be half of a gigantic jawbone, but not of any animal I had ever seen. It was absolutely bristling in wicked teeth, perhaps up to three rows of them. I must have looked momentarily shocked because father put it down next to an identical bone, a gape more than large enough to accommodate human-sized meals. I didn't think any animal had a jaw that didn't meet in the front. Except for snakes. I touched my own chin at the lingering thought.

"Father, do not distract me. You have been down here for days! You made me come all the way down here, this horrible place! I thought surely that awful squatter had eaten you!" I placed my hands on my hips in genuine anger.

"He was nice." My father piped. My frown deepened. My father's smile softened as he pattered a few steps to pat my shoulder.

"Look at my boy, come all the way down here after his old man. I told you that you had guts."

My rage faltered. My father was proud of me for being brave.

My shoulders slumped in defeat and clasped my father's shoulder in return. "Come on, old man, get your trolley and let's get out of this place while we still have our skins."

My father tottered over to his large trolley and casually reached up. He plucked the vacuum tube from its setting. Before he could set it in the trolley the entire room gave a bellowing metallic groan which I felt in my feet. Various little lights jumped to life all across the console and through the walls up to the ceiling. I realized the apparatus was not in the ceiling; it was the ceiling. It culminated in a round container tapering to a point in the center.

Before I could iterate to my father how bad this was the monitors along the console came on with a dull zapping sound. The face of a young man appeared on them between bursts of static. By most means he looked unassuming; light skinned, silver hair pulled into a studious ponytail, his youthful face accented with large round spectacles. But the eyes behind those spectacles looked anything but youthful and unassuming. They looked tired and steely. They looked full of malice and at the same time sadness.

A voice cracked into the silence from speakers I could not see. Only the malice came through in the voice. It was curt and polite malice, as if he were addressing a noble and not intruders. The white noise fractured his address but it was clear the intruders are whom it was recorded for.

"Very persistent… made it into…be … rewarded."

That did not bode well.

The circular apparatus in the center of the ceiling whirred. Every fiber of my being was screaming at me to get out. I inched along the walls to avoid the middle of the room, trying to get to my father. I kept my eyes on the ominous ceiling as my father pulled at his trolley. The apparatus opened at a point and I held my breath.

A small drop of dark liquid formed at the center and began falling to the floor. That was all. Just a drop.

I traced its path as it fell in what seemed like slow motion. Under the dust & rubble was some sort of pattern. It looked like ink smeared out in a web. I wasn't sure exactly what it was; it looked of something in a shinobi's bag of tricks. I could only pull on my father's arm as the drop fell in the center of it.

The drop combusted into a dance of liquid striking a surface, revealed as red for only a moment before the pattern erupted into smoke. Smoke filled the room. It didn't dissipate fast enough that I hadn't inhaled much of it into my panic-stricken chest. It stung my eyes.

Through my bleary vision I could see something looming through the smoke. At first I thought it was several things but as I blinked tears away I saw that it was just one big thing. One gigantic serpent, its thick triangular head was easily far larger than father's trolley. Its massive coils filled the room and blocked the exit. Its eyes pierced me. For a monster with little facial structures to express intentions, its face seemed to jeer at me.

I froze under the gaze of golden orbs and swayed to a deep soul-jarring hiss. It was only the splitting of the creature's face the broke my trance. Dozens of small hooked teeth lined a cotton mouth along trails in half a dozen places. Its maw was highlighted by two huge fangs that swung forward as I watched it lunge towards me.

Even as I felt the jaws clamp around much of my torso this didn't feel real. Even as the fangs pierced my back and curved around my spine I felt I must be dreaming. Nothing hurt but I could feel the impact rock me backward. I felt the impact of my knees hit the flagstones. I felt an alien fire spreading through my body and rendering me useless. I could only lie on the ground becoming slowly encompassed in coils, sheer sheets of muscle covered in cold scales.

What had felt like an eon proved to only be half a second. That was how long it took for the serpent to strike down my father. My poor wonderful old father. I watched him fall to the ground, his brittle bones rattling. My stomach lurched even now. I could not cry out. I could not move.

The great beast turned its head to me.

The world went dark and ceased to be.

**-End-**

****BAM. I Stephen King'd you. In all seriousness I do hope anybody that reads this whole thing likes it. It was meant to be a suspense, be disturbing on a subtle (or not subtle) level. I've never had the willpower to write anything so long & I'd love it if you could give it a helpful review!

-Orochimartyr


End file.
